Ben Katchor's dreamscape is peopled by transistor radio listeners, door-knob triers, false eyebrow importers, and a late-night-perambulating real estate photographer named Julius Knipl. The vaguely melancholy stories in his eight-panel comic strips reflect a fondness for the forgotten, the obscure, and the merely overlooked. What happens to the city's wholesale calendar salesmen in February? Who buys last year's tinned seedless grapes? Katchor's shadowed line drawings of a gray metropolis evoke musty smells, the shuffling steps of retirees, and a proliferating autumnal chill. Readers who enjoy his work in their local weekly papers, as well as NPR listeners who have been held captive by the "Knipl Radio-Cartoons" will be glad to linger a little longer in the dream life of Katchor's world.
[A]fter years of peregrinating with Knipl in search of vanished places and forgotten dreams, I'm convinced that his creator, Ben Katchor, is the most poetic, deeply layered artist ever to draw a comic strip ... sort of a Max Beckman with dialogue balloons.... Mr. Katchor should take comfort and a great deal of pride in knowing that he has created perhaps the most original comic strip since ... "Krazy Kat" more than 80 years ago. -- The New York Times Book Review, Edward Sorel